


One Last Dance

by Tasia (ruikosakuragi)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruikosakuragi/pseuds/Tasia
Summary: "Memories of dancing with you are all I have left."
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 19
Kudos: 37





	One Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fullmetalscully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmetalscully/gifts).



> For Emma. I hope you enjoy this belated birthday fic! I'm sorry it took so long to finish.
> 
> Title and summary by Us The Duo.

It was the same cold evening all over again.

Riza Hawkeye stepped out of her heeled oxfords to sweep the damp earth with pulsating feet that had seen too much polished marble just hours before. The Fuhrer's annual ball was something extraordinary to the eyes of many, resplendent and glamorous, but the former sharpshooter preferred the plain rolling hills of South City that stretched out like black sea before her. Five hours of driving was worth every shade of green she could make out in the gloom, every star that guided her path through the small towns she had not seen in years, and the weaving arias of crickets that made her journey even more lovely than she remembered.

South City was her childhood home.

And it was where she met him.

Slowly, cautiously, she approached, taking her time to outline the figure before her, allowing a steady smile to encroach with the increasing clarity of his presence.

Roy Mustang was not a young man anymore. Streaks of silver peppered a thick bed of hair that was once as dark as the night's November sky. Smooth, taut skin no longer pulled over his pale complexion as it once had; his expression was now roughened with deep lines of age and wisdom. Yet, he was still as handsome as the fifteen year old boy she met for the very first time at the step of her father's front porch. Her heart began to quicken as she took another step, and then another, faster and faster, as if she was that lovestruck teenager all over again.

Without a word Roy rose to welcome her, shrugging off his thick gabardine jacket and laying them atop the threadbare blanket below him. Under the quiet gaze of the moon, he opened his arms, wide and inviting, a crinkle of delight behind a worn out face that spoke of love and adoration.

The separation between them felt like an eternity but Riza was finally there, and she wasted no seconds to fold herself into his embrace. A pair of sturdy arms gathered around her waist, as instinctive as they had always been, pressing her slender frame into a set of broad shoulders that had held the weight of an ugly past but a persistent dream of a bright future.

Suddenly, everything felt right, and the hollow beneath her breasts shrank and filled until they were no more.

"You made it," was all she could whisper above the chill of his skin.

" _You_ made it," Roy corrected her softly. "I've been here all along."

"You're so cold. I hope you didn't wait too long."

He smiled and said, "Not at all." But his smile was less reassuring than it was wistful, and Riza recognized the lie he molded for her sake. She knew he'd waited a lifetime, and he should have known that she wouldn't hold the truth against him. She never had.

Tenderly, he rested his hand over the back of her head, drawing her to the curve of his neck. Once she was safely tucked into him, he swayed, hips first, slow and steady, and she followed without question, letting him lead her to the grassy dance floor.

The measured steps of practiced feet took her backward and forward, over to each side and back. He twirled her, she spun, and Riza had forgotten the last time she felt so carefree. He laughed, even when he abruptly stumbled, tripping on a thick pleat of the blanket beside them. Then he grinned while Riza chuckled as she balanced this way and that to keep herself upright, burying both of their clumsiness under a joyful abandon. He hung onto her when he crumbled to the ground and she held tight, pulling him up.

Up, up, and up.

Roy collected himself and dusted the back of his trousers, seeking her hands once again. Then, in what seemed like a silent act of gratitude, he brushed his forehead with hers, solidly, consolingly, and the soft edge of his mouth touched her ear. He began to hum, shyly at first, the notes faint and unsure. But it progressively became stronger and surer as she tightened her hug in response, pushing and encouraging.

It was a melody she had heard before, a wave of nostalgia undulating in the soft trill of his tune.

"Which one is this again?" she mumbled, unwilling to lift her lips from the comfort of his skin.

"It's your mother's record," he said. "I'd just been listening to it."

"The song you played when you tried to teach my hopeless self to dance. Right?"

The sweet sound of laughter shook his chest, and Riza felt it reverberate through her skin, clambering up her spine and settling in the space between them. The sensation was warm and pleasant, though his body was anything but warm. When he had come down from his mirth, she squeezed his torso without a second thought, injecting heat as best she could, and he hummed again, as if urging her to keep going.

Riza held onto him while he continued with a string of notes that began to sound disjointed and disembodied from the man who sang it. Until eventually, a new song found its way into her ears.

She tilted her head in wonder and, without hesitation, Roy murmured that it was something he'd composed just for her so she'd have something to remember him by. Wordlessly, Riza marveled then if there were any other men like him; if there were any other men who would compose a tune just for her as Roy had; if there were any other men who would wait for her as long as he had done tonight; and if there were any other men who would repress all affection and intimacy over duty until the proper time came to unload it all.

And Riza realized just how easy it had been to love him.

He swung her outward in one graceful motion, releasing her hand with the promise of pulling her back in. Roy stopped her a short distance away, giving him a glimpse of her face, and smoothed a stray white hair from her cheek. His voice was faint with the narrow bridge between them, "How was the Fuhrer's ball? Not too tedious for you, I hope."

The answer should have been as simple as counting one, two, three, but in the soft glow of the night, a sense of longing came and contracted beneath her ribcage. A fat tear welled and leaked from her eyes, and she had to muster strength to rasp out a reply.

"I wish you'd been there," she croaked.

He laughed, "Was it that bad?"

On impulse Riza nodded her head, acknowledging that her silence often spoke louder than words when she was with him. Roy understood instantly and ceased his laughter. He didn't need to look at her to know. He needed only to trace the shiver along her shoulders or make out the thread of a frown that had weaved itself around her mouth.

At the sight of his thoughtful stare, she began to whimper like a helpless child alone in the dark, vulnerable under the strain of her fear and grief. Then a sob teetered from her throat and turned into a garish wail, and all of her effort to contain the billowing sorrow was effectively reduced to rubble.

Gently, he gestured towards the blanket. Lie down, as if to say. "It's been a long day. Why don't you rest for a bit?"

The back of her skull burning and her mind heavy, Riza obeyed. The darkening shadow below her eyes could hardly convey the endless nights she had spent wide awake, pondering what awaited her when another day rolled by, only for her thoughts to circle back to these fleeting moments.

"Don't leave me. Please," she begged through her tears.

Roy placed a gentle hand on the crown of her head as he had often done under the roof of her father's house and raked delicate fingers through the cascade of white-gold hair. The wrinkles on his face seemed to have vanished as he spoke aloud what she'd only dared voice in her head, "Sleep, Mrs. Mustang. I'll be here in the morning."

Weary and drained, Riza sank to the ground and curled under the jacket he draped over her. Her concrete eyelids drooped over her vision until all she could see was Roy's blurred silhouette beyond the curls of her lashes. Wintry breeze glided over her listless limbs, and the last thing she heard before sleep finally claimed her was his promise to her:

"Just put on a song, and I'll dance with you once again."

When she woke the sun had climbed up and stood above her. The telltale signs of another's presence had faded with the light. With a resigned sigh and the ache of loss and love in her chest so painfully intertwined, Riza pushed herself to her knees and then her feet. Methodically, she shrugged the blanket from the ground and dusted it off, folding the garment and tucking it under her arm. Then with a deep breath for courage, she faced the stone that bore his name.

Roy Mustang  
1885 - 1940  
Devoted son, faithful friend.  
Hero of Amestris.

And it felt like the same cold evening one year ago when she'd said her tearful goodbye. But this time she forbade sorrow, embracing peace and finding acceptance with the memories that remained. Smiling above parched throat that had accompanied her through the night, she carried on with her day knowing she'd find him again in the end.

All she had to do was put on a song and wait for their dance to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
